


The Aftermath

by iamanidhwal



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alex is a POS husband, Angst, Eliza is a cinnamon roll that deserves better, Emotional Turmoil, F/M, Feelings, Feels, Gen, Like, Pain, Philip is a mama's boy and we love him for it, Post-Burn, Set in 'Burn', The Hamilton Family is fucked up and Alex is to blame, The Reynolds Pamphlet, WHY DID YOU HAVE TO PUT YOUR DINGALING INTO HER HOOHAA, immediately after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6919258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamanidhwal/pseuds/iamanidhwal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately after 'Burn'. </p><p>The perfect picture that was the Hamilton family went up in flames in record time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> First post in the Hamilton fandom! Hello my fellow Hamil-trash!!!
> 
> So, basically, I can relate to our dearest Eliza, best of wives and best of women, here, because I had my own certain share from the same bowl of drama.
> 
> And well, I think I wanted to expand on 'Burn' because Eliza is a strong woman who just had had enough and I love her for it eeep 
> 
> This is something short, around 1.5k words, so I hope it suffices! Love y'all <3

* * *

The perfect picture that was the Hamilton family went up in flames in record time.

It was noon, and the streets were supposed to be less dense than usual because everyone went off to lunch. This day was an exception, and Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton _hated_ it.

She _hated_ how the people clamored around the gate, unabashed, wanting to peek into the lives they already know too much about. _Too much._

She _hated_ that they were clutching copies of _The Reynolds Pamphlet_. She had never anticipated ever hating any of Alexander’s written works, but there it is. Being waved in her face, slapped with the cold hard truth that she was too naïve, too trusting, and it had blown back at her tenfold, leaving destruction in its wake like a hurricane.

Alexander Hamilton wasn’t a hurricane. No, he was a tempest. And he destroyed the family from the inside.

“Mother.” A timid voice floated to her, distracting her from the emotional turmoil. Their eldest – no, _her_ eldest; there will never be a ‘their’, ‘our’, or ‘them’ ever again – was outside the door. Poor Philip, already being talked behind his back in school because of Alexander’s antics as Secretary of Treasury. Philip had thick skin, and for that Elizabeth was grateful. But now, hearing him like this, she didn’t know if he was worried for her, for himself, for the family. “May I come in?”

She went to unlock the door, but didn’t make a move to open it. Philip, to his credit, didn’t open until she said so. When she finally did, he opened it slowly and coughed. It took only a moment for it to register.

“Oh. I burned some things…” She mumbled, too numb to even fake being apologetic. Her eyes felt swollen and dry, and her cheeks stung from the constant stream of tears. She knew she looked a downright mess: she had pulled out her hair from her braid, her hands and face were likely smudged in soot. There was a dying fire in the fireplace, and she knew the people were outside were talking about it. She was too overwhelmed to care. “Philip…”

“Let’s get you some water, mother,” he said, taking her hands in his. God, Philip was her stronghold. However much he looked and acted like Alexander, she could never bring to hate him in association. She crumpled against his chest, another wave of emotions choking her. Her son, her _son,_ was comforting her. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Shouldn’t it be both of them crying, mourning the loss of their perfect husband and father?

The world seemed too bright, too happy for Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton. And she hated it, burying her face as deep as she could against Philip’s chest as he stroked her hair, her back, trying to comfort her. She couldn’t make out the words.

“… _sept, huit, neuf,”_ he whispered, breath hitching. She looked up to find yet another heartbreak: her dear Philip, cracking under pressure. Tears were also streaming down his face, but he was trying so hard, _so hard,_ to be the man of the hour when his father failed that role.

And oh, Eliza didn’t want it.

“Shh, Philip…” She sniffed and cupped his face with her hands, wiping the tears away with a thumb. “My boy, my son…”

“Was it true…?” He whispered, looking up at her with all the emotions she felt. Lost. Angry. Betrayed. Crestfallen. How had they fallen so suddenly? “Was it true, how daddy…?”

“It was his writing, dearest…” she murmured, driving another stake to their hearts.

“Someone could have published it in his name.” Oh, sweet, sweet Philip. Trying to justify the situation. How could a lovely father figure suddenly become someone who went against almost everything they stood for – love, devotion, loyalty? “S-Someone could’ve… Daddy’s got lots of enemies, I know that, and it’s possible…”

Suddenly, there was a quiet sound, but both of them stilled. It was too early for this, and they both know it, but here he was.

Alexander Hamilton looked as if he had an ordinary day. He took his time shrugging off his coat, and take his hat off. He stretched his neck and shoulders, like he always does, and then went up to them with a soft smile on his face.

Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton _hated_ how this man, who had burned her entire world to the ground, looked so goddamn _content_ and _satisfied._

Her anger must have shown clearly on her face, as Alexander’s steps halted, and his smile faltered. He knew what happened, and his eyes were blazing with a familiar fire.

“Don’t think you can justify this,” Elizabeth spat, but that didn’t stop Alexander from reaching out to her.

“Eliza, dearest – “

“Don’t call her that,” Philip growled, pushing Elizabeth behind him. Sweet, sweet Philip, protecting his mother. “Don’t you _dare_ call her that.”

Alexander looked miffed. “Philip, don’t tread into this – “

“Don’t _tread_ into this, father?” He scoffed. “Or should I even call you that?”

“This is a matter between your mother and I,” Alexander said sternly. “Step aside, son – “

“ _Don’t call me ‘son’.”_ Philip was growling at this point. “Don’t you _dare_ call me your son. After what you’ve done to sully the Hamilton name?”

Now _this_ made Alexander’s eyebrows shoot up. “Young man, what do you know about the Hamilton name? _I_ was the one who brought it out of the mud and wasteland that was St. Croix. _I_ was the one who brought ‘Hamilton’ to King’s College. _I_ was the one who brought it in the Revolution, the wars. _I_ was the one who dragged the name Hamilton up as Secretary of Treasury, and – “

“And you were the one who burned us all to the ground.” Eliza finished for him. She kissed Philip’s forehead. “Wait for me in the library?” She told him.

Philip nodded. “Yes, Mother.” He said quietly, then left, not even sparing Alexander a glance. He didn’t deserve recognition from his eldest son.

Alexander stepped closer to her, looking like he wanted to engulf her in his arms, but she stepped back.

“No. I will not be held by a man who has held another naked woman’s flesh in heat – “

“Eliza – “

“ – in our own house – “

“Please, Eliza, listen – “

“ – in our own damn _bed!”_ Elizabeth was screaming, hysterical. “Alexander, _how could you?”_

And finally, _finally,_ Alexander was at a loss for words. _The Alexander Hamilton,_ his infamous mouth got shushed by Elizabeth. She vaguely remembered how John Laurens joked on their wedding night that Elizabeth should tighten the reigns on Alexander.

“He’s a free spirit, you know,” John had slurred, already quite inebriated. “But you keep him in check. You keep him on the ground. That… That’s something not everyone can do, Eliza. Reign him in, tight, tighter than you're doing right now. Or else all of Hamilton will spill. You know how he spills.” He had sipped his glass and looked away, mind already wandering. "When he spills, he tears the world around him to pieces."

‘ _I’m sorry I didn’t heed your words, dear Laurens,’_ she quietly said in her mind.

Alexander was still on his feet, but he wasn’t reaching out anymore. Elizabeth turned away, not wanting to see his face for a very long time.

“I’m not leaving this house, Alexander Hamilton. But I refuse to be your wife. I will only be the mother of your children, and that will be all.”

Again, silence. She felt powerful, knowing that she was breaking Alexander’s heart. _Just as he did with hers._

“Pick up your belongings from the bedroom. You will sleep in your office and will not speak to me unless spoken to.”

A quick shuffle of feet, and low mumbling were the only things she heard. She turned to peek, and Alexander was gone.

She slowly went to the library, where Philip had his hands already on the piano and had reserved her a seat. Sweet, sweet Philip, didn’t even need his mother to vocalize anything. They just _needed,_ and they had to _comply._

She took her seat next to him, and squeezed his hand gently. Philip smiled at her weakly, encouragingly.

“We’ll get through this, Mother,” he mumbled. Elizabeth kissed his forehead.

“Yes, dear. I have no doubt.” She put her delicate fingers on the white keys. “Let’s start from the bottom.”

“As you wish, Mother.”

Elizabeth started to play, the melody a product merely of muscle memory. In her mind, she was trying, but miserably failing, to burn all memories of her and Alexander. No, she will only keep them in a box, as a reminder that Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton was once the wife of a loving, intelligent husband. And that she will no longer be played. There will be no more heartbreaks from here on out, and Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton will make sure of that with all her power.

“ _Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf…”_ she sang softly, letting the simple tune wash over her like a blanket. This was her safe place, with Philip.

“ _Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf…”_ Her son followed, voice strong and clear. They will get through this.

For the rest of the day, the Hamilton household was silent, except for the notes on the piano repeating themselves. They were from a different time, and a different family, and Elizabeth knew that, deep down, they were trying to convince themselves that everything was a bad dream, and that the family hadn’t ripped and fallen apart at the seams.

She didn’t have the heart to tell Philip that their efforts were in vain.


End file.
